


Change

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 09:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16302956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond finds a different side of Lindir.





	Change

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peasantswhy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peasantswhy/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for peasantswhy’s “Elrond/Lindir for #24 [transformation, nsfw]” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/179060905990/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It’s dark out by the time he’s finished, and probably has been for hours—once Elrond’s head is down in work, it rarely comes up again until he’s done. The university is particularly quiet, many of the lights off, and the halls are all but empty. Elrond’s already sent his assistant home. He gathers his things into his bag and throws on his jacket to leave, then decides to leave that bag on his desk and make a pit stop at the nearest washroom first.

There’s one just outside the historical literature department. Elrond fully expects it to be empty, but when he steps inside, he finds a younger elf already at the sink. Leaning forward towards the mirror, the elf has a tube in his hands, poised over his eyes—he must be doing his makeup. When he glances at Elrond, obviously drawn by the sound of footsteps, it reveals the most gorgeous face Elrond’s ever seen: soft, blush lips, rosy, gently-sloping cheeks, dazzling eyes and thick, dark lashes with shimmering fall colours above and perfectly groomed eyebrows. A long, intricately woven braid trails down one exposed shoulder—the elf is wearing a black corseted top with sheer off-the-shoulder sleeves and a single black ribbon for a choker, tied in a bow at the back of his neck. Incredibly tight faux-leather jeans cling to his slender legs, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. The elf is an absolute vision, one that takes Elrond’s breath away.

Then the elf speaks, mumbling in clear surprise, “Professor Peredhel?”

The familiar lilting voice slams home, and suddenly Elrond sees it: he _knows_ this intoxicating beauty. It’s the very same assistant that he sent home earlier. The transformation is mind-blowing: Lindir always reports to work in the most plain—albeit cute—attire, things often oversized and blandly coloured, his hair usually untouched and his face the same. He’s even been described, by Elrond’s not-so-dear friend Thranduil, as ‘quite mousy and homely.’ This is the utter opposite. 

While Elrond’s still struggling with the shock, Lindir blushes a sweat pink across his cheeks—that, too, makes him instantly recognizable. Elrond would know that adorable blush anywhere. Lowering the makeup in his hand, Lindir casts his eyes down and mumbles, “I’m sorry, I... I don’t normally dress like this...”

“You look lovely,” Elrond interrupts, because he can sense the self-deprecation coming on and it always kills him when Lindir does that. Lindir looks up again, eyes wide. “What’s the occasion?”

If possible, Lindir blushes even deeper. “I’m, um... letting a friend drag me to a club...”

Elrond tries to keep his eyebrows from lifting. He can’t help but note, “Forgive me, but you don’t seem like the clubbing type.” If anything, Lindir always struck him as the stay-home-and-read-a-good-book kind, which struck Elrond just fine, because that’s what type of person Elrond is too.

Lindir shuffles his feet awkwardly and mutters, “I, uh... I’m... supposed to be trying to attract a man...”

Something in Elrond’s chest tightens. It catches him off guard, even though this isn’t the first time he’s had such a reaction around Lindir. He hopes Lindir doesn’t mean a specific one. But that’s irrational. He wishes Lindir well. He forces himself to say, “You definitely will.”

Lindir fidgets. He quietly asks, “...Do you really think I look lovely?”

“I think you’re absolutely stunning. Anyone would want you.”

Lindir all but whispers, “Anyone?”

Elrond nods with all the confidence that Lindir never seems to have. Even Thranduil, seeing this transformed Lindir, would have to admit him irresistible. 

Lindir bites into his bottom lip, working it lightly, which makes it very difficult not to stare at his mouth. Then he lets it go to lick over them, making them even glossier, and he carefully admits, “I’ve... only ever wanted one man...”

He takes a step closer. Another step, and he reaches out. Elrond’s put one hand absently up on the sink, and Lindir now places his over it. 

Elrond looks down at them. He knows it’s inappropriate. It’s _ridiculously_ inappropriate. He could get fired. He _should_ be fired. But he also knows that Lindir’s only slightly exaggerating—this really has been building for far too long.

Lindir even _smells_ delicious. Whatever perfume or cologne he’s donned, it’s working. Elrond can’t seem to help himself. He leans down to brush his lips over Lindir’s. 

Instantly, Lindir’s pressing back into him. Lindir leans into the kiss, his other hand rising to hold onto Elrond’s jacket, his body arching forward into Elrond’s. The warmth is staggering. When Elrond withdraws, Lindir moans his name.

He’s _weak_. He used to think otherwise, but that was a lie—Lindir topples him; he goes in for a second kiss, this time even fiercer, and at Lindir’s happy mewl, he even wraps his arm around Lindir’s lithe waist. He pulls Lindir into him as much as possible, and Lindir seems to _love_ it. 

From there, it’s just a snowball rolling down and getting worse: Elrond presses his tongue into Lindir’s mouth and shivers as Lindir sucks it in and moans around it. Lindir tastes faintly of strawberry—Elrond wonders whether that was part of dinner or the lip-gloss. Lindir’s arms shift to Elrond’s shoulders and wrap around them, Lindir lifting up on his toes to angle them better, though they keep moving, switching, probing deeper into each other’s mouths. Elrond lets himself envelope Lindir’s smaller body, until one hand’s strayed to the round curve of Lindir’s ass and he’s given it a firm squeeze.

Lindir’s languid whimper breaks the spell. Elrond withdraws, knowing he’s gone too far. He shouldn’t have done that. But Lindir looks up at him like there’s nothing Lindir’s ever wanted more. 

Horribly flustered for an old professor that’s supposed to have his life under control, Elrond mumbles, “Ah... good luck tonight.”

Lindir blurts, “Please take me home.” Elrond opens his mouth, and Lindir clarifies, “ _Your_ home.”

He should say no. But Lindir looks too pretty to deny. Elrond doesn’t have the power to break his heart. 

Elrond nods, kisses him again, takes his hand, and guides him to the door.


End file.
